


The World Is Your Burden

by vaulthunter



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aldmeri Dominion, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, F/M, Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance, Skyrim Civil War, Stormcloaks, Thalmor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 18:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7373458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaulthunter/pseuds/vaulthunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The crown rests upon Ulfric's head and the Dragonborn's sword rests upon the World-Eater's gut, but this war is far from over. Forces of evil and forces of the heart are just the beginning of the dark path winding ahead of High King Ulfric Stormcloak and Dragonborn Thorunn Stormblade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PROLOGUE

Thorunn bellowed a battle cry, mauling an Imperial to death by repeatedly pummeling her iron shield into his face. Her battle-honed senses could feel someone coming up on her six. She whirled around, jumping to her feet and around just in time to meet the sword of another Imperial with her shield. She used her free hand to swing her axe around it and into the gut of the enemy. With a sickening splatter of flesh and blood, he recoiled and fell to the ground as Thorunn yanked her axe free.

She kept marching, searching for her next target. Men in blue armor fell around her almost as much as men in red armor were, but she did not slow down for them. The ringing clash of steel on steel, thundering pound of shield on shield, the snarling and cries of men as the battleground became slick with gore; this was a scene as familiar to Thorunn as the back of her hand. Flames licked the stone walls of the buildings enclosed the city of Solitude, Skyrim's capital. Masonry and rubble rocked loose from being plunged with slung boulders, adding to the piles of dead bodies both soldier and civilian alike.

The Stormcloaks were ruthless. They were mean, aggressive, violent, and merciless; but these traits were what made a Nord. The Imperials were fools to ever underestimate them.

The steady beat of war drums gave a rhythm to the gruesome sounds of battle. Thorunn glanced around for the soon-to-be High King, finding him just beyond Galmar Stone-Fist, hashing and thrashing his axes and using the Voice to fell his foes. Galmar slugged his two-handed greatsword powerfully enough to have his enemies trembling and stumbling for an easier target.

Thorunn readied her shield in front of her to block any incoming arrows and held her axe up, ready to plunge into anyone unlucky enough to get in her way. One foolish Imperial made a charge for her, but her axe made short work of him. Another came at her further into her descent, shouting as he ran at her with his sword held high above his head. His cry was cut short when Thorunn hacked her axe into his gut, holding her shield in front of her face to parry his sword. 

With a trail of bodies in her wake, she reached Galmar Stone-Fist and exchanged a curt nod and a crooked victorious grin with him before sidestepping to his six. The two of them had naturally developed a strategy when fighting together: Galmar on the right, Thorunn on the left, back-to-back and unstoppable. With him being a two-handed warrior, he had no efficient way to block any attacks coming from the rear. Thorunn made up for it, being a shield maiden. 

There was a roar of thunder as Ulfric Shouted someone into an ice capsule. The ground shook beneath Thorunn's steel boots, catching her off guard and rocking her balance. She caught it just in time to clash her axe with the sword of an Imperial. Thorunn had the advantage; the Imperials had a steadily decreasing morale, and this guy's movements were sloppy and poorly executed, lanced with a sense of hopelessness. Thorunn handled him effortlessly, swinging her axe at him until she had him backed against a wall and trembling just before she delivered the killing blow to his throat. 

She hurled her shield around, bashing into an enemy that had foolishly thought they had the jump on her. The Imperial stumbled back and fell to her knees, bringing her sword up to block the blow Thorunn had been aiming to punish. Thorunn brought her shield up beneath the woman's arm to force it out of her way, then plunged her axe deep into the Imperial's gut.

There was a horn. Thorunn ceased fighting immediately, head snapping to attention. Ulfric had been the culprit. He blew thrice more, one after the other, its message quick and simple. The Stormcloaks resumed their battle, but Galmar and Thorunn did not. They strategically retreated to Ulfric's side, providing back up while he marched to the gates of the Blue Palace. 

The leader of the revolution jerked his axe towards the barricades. "Break it down."

Thorunn and Galmar obliged eagerly. They charged forth and mindlessly bludgeoned their respective weapons into the barricade, over and over and over again until the makeshift wood gave out and collapsed in a heap of rubble and dust, unable to stand against the indomitable strength of their combined weapons.

The two of them waited for the High King to reach their middle before proceeding, stepping over the pile of saw dust and broken wood. The courtyard was surprisingly cleared. Thorunn guessed they'd spent all their men trying to fend off the Stormcloaks in the bulk of the city, thinking that they wouldn't need to guard the palace if they got that far. 

But not even Imperials were stupid enough to leave the heart of their city unguarded. Two Imperials stood on either side of the doors, weapons drawn, waiting for Ulfric and his entourage to meet them. 

Meet them they did. Ulfric gave Thorunn a nod, the nod that gave her freedom to take the reins of the Voice. She quickly decided which Shout she wanted to deploy. While Galmar and Ulfric distracted the guards, she got off to the side to give her a decent angle. Imperials started pouring into the broken-down gates, realizing too late just how fragile their chances of victory were. Stormcloaks followed right after them with weapons raised and voices deafening.

With the threat of losing, the Imperials fought harder than ever. Nobody forgot that the Empire was once the pride and joy of Skyrim, which meant they were all seasoned fighters, even if their hearts were in the wrong place. Thorunn may not have relished in the idea of killing her kinsmen, but they'd made their choice and they'd signed their death wishes. Just as the Stormcloaks had.

There were more important things to worry about now than morality, like the fact that Stormcloaks were falling left and right at the hands of the Imperials. They'd been battling for over sixteen hours. The Imperials just kept coming, reinforcements after reinforcements, and even the esteemed Dragonborn whose entire life was defined by the blood she spilled gets exhausted. 

They'd need something more powerful than will. 

Thorunn tensed her shoulders and opened her mouth. She reached deep into her essence, pulling out the dovah that resided within and projecting it into her stentorian Thu'um. "O-dah-viing!" she Shouted, thunder racking the walls and unsettling the ground as her voice traveled to the sky and kissed the clouds. 

Mere seconds passed before the ginormous winged silhouette flew overhead. The powerful jaws of the dragon opened as he roared, diving down in one fluid, graceful sweep to make sure the Dragonborn knew he had answered her call. 

"Clear the way! Clear the way!" Thorunn bellowed. 

The Stormcloaks started falling back. They'd fought with Thorunn enough times to know what she was doing, and their first instinct was to block the exit of the courtyard to prevent any Imperials from fleeing. 

"Shield wall!" Ulfric roared.

The Stormcloaks gathering at the gateway knelt down and brought their shields up to cover their bodies and block out the fire that was about to wreak havoc. Thorunn scanned her eyes over the vicinity, making sure not a lick of blue was able to be seen among the gathering chaos. She waited until Ulfric and Galmar were out of range before signaling the dragon above.

"Odahviing, yol!" she ordered. 

The mighty dragon made a dive for the city. As his ragged wings swooped the ground, an overwhelming gust of air knocked many men off their feet, succumbing to their offset balance. Next came the fiery breath of the dov. Odahviing inhaled air and exhaled fire, painting the ground with deadly hues of orange and red and gold. The screams of mortal men embraced the roar of the dovah.

It was over as soon as it began. After making his swoop, Odahviing took to the skies again, disappearing into the clouds. Thorunn regarded him fondly as he vanished. The two of them had met under very tense circumstances-- she had him chained to the outpost of a palace in Whiterun, and dragons do not like being chained --but now, any ill will they once had for one another might as well have never happened. Odahviing was always there to heed her call, and she was always there to heed his. 

The Stormcloaks who'd been taking cover behind their shield wall gradually lowered their shields and came to. They started filing into the courtyard, avoiding the spots thick with flame. 

Ulfric approached the center. "This is it, men!" he began. "It's time to make this city ours! We come to this moment carried by the sacrifices and the courage of our brothers. Those who have fallen, and those still holding the line. On this day, our enemy will witness the fullness of our determination, the true depth of our anger and the exalted righteousness of our cause. The Nine are watching. The spirits of our ancestors are stirring. And the men under suns yet to dawn will be defined by what we do here today. Fear neither pain, nor darkness.

"For Sovngarde awaits those who die with weapons in their hands, and courage in their hearts. Inside this castle is the head of the age of oppression, and I will not rest until it's rolling lifeless in a field of its perpetrators. Everyone, with me! For the true sons and daughters of Skyrim!"

A deafening roar of cheers pierced the smoky air. The Stormcloaks started pounding the hilts of their weapons on their shields, taking their courage from the leader standing before them, believing in their cause more surely than Thorunn had ever seen. She turned to face the doors of Castle Dour and pounded them open.

Thorunn's ears were left with an irritating ringing with the silence that accompanied the castle. General Tullius and Legate Rikke were inside, weapons drawn, waiting for it all to end.

There was no semblance of chance for a surrender, Thorunn thought as she watched the look on Tullius's face transform from anger to raw rage. "Let us put an end to this, Ulfric," he spat between gritted teeth.

Ulfric drew his axe calmly. Galmar and Thorunn had never put their weapons away to begin with. "Secure the door," he ordered Galmar.

"Already done," assured Galmar.

Rikke was next to speak, her jaw clenched and her shoulders tense. "Ulfric. Stop."

The man scoffed. "Stop what?" he retorted. "Taking Skyrim back from those who'd leave her to rot?" General Tullius was open about how little he regarded Skyrim.

"You're wrong, Ulfric," said Rikke. There was an odd sadness in her voice. "We need the Empire. Without it, Skyrim will assuredly fall to the Dominion."

"You were there with us. You saw it. The day the Empire signed that damned treaty was the day the Empire died," snarled Galmar Stone-Fist.

"The Empire is weak, obsolete," Ulfric added, so sure of himself. "Look at how far we've come and with so little. When we're done rooting out Imperial influence here at home, then we will take our war to the Aldmeri Dominion."

Rikke shook her head. "You're a damn fool." 

"Stand aside, woman," Galmar ordered, taking a step forward, his tone brooking a threat. "We've come for the general."

"He has given up," said Rikke, gathering her courage, "but I have not."

"Rikke, go. You're free to leave." Ulfric clearly did not want this woman's blood, which piqued Thorunn's curiosity. Mercy was not something this man was well acquainted with, let alone towards the Empire and its supporters.

"I'm also free to stay and fight for what I believe," retorted Rikke, her words spitting like venom.

"You're also free to die for it."

The Legate lost her temper. "This is what you wanted? Shield brothers and sisters killing each other? Families torn apart? This is the Skyrim you wanted?" From behind Ulfric, Thorunn growled beneath her breath and began to charge when Ulfric calmly held up a hand to stop her.

"Damn it, woman, stand aside!" Galmar commanded, but this time his command was half a plea.

"That's not the Skyrim I want to live in," she added darkly.

"Rikke," Ulfric reasoned, "you don't have to do this."

"You've left me no choice... Talos preserve us." And with that, the dance ensued.

Thorunn went straight for Rikke, while Ulfric and Galmar went for Tullius. Her shield clashed with Rikke's and Thorunn dug her heels into the ground to prevent her balance from off-setting with the pressure Rikke was applying. The two women pushed against one another with their shields, a raw battle between nothing but strength.

In the end, Thorunn won. She took her shield and pulled it back just slightly enough to get Rikke to stumble, then finished her off by bashing her shield thrice into hers. Rikke trampled backwards, clashing into the wall with a piercing nails-against-chalkboard noise thanks to the steel in her armor and the stone in the walls. 

Thorunn held her shield up to cover her side while she advanced on Rikke with her axe. Rikke's sword stopped it from getting much further than a foot away from her chest. She swung her sword aside while it was hooked with Thorunn's axe, and Thorunn lost her grip and ended up disarmed. 

Thorunn eluded an incoming blow with her shield. While Rikke's sword was still connected with the shield, Thorunn thrust it upwards, then down into Rikke's gut. She grunted with pain, stumbling once more, tripping over her own foot, and falling to her knees. By the look in her eyes, she knew it was all over, but she kept fighting. She went to bring her sword up when Thorunn wrenched it free from her hand.

Thorunn used the woman's own sword to kill her, plunging it into her chest. The last emotion to fill Rikke's eyes was resignation, and Thorunn used her foot to push her off the sword, freeing it. She tossed it aside and picked her axe back up. 

Ulfric had a wound in his side. Galmar had a gash streaking across his face. And most importantly, Tullius looked generally unscathed. Anger rising in the pit of her stomach, Thorunn charged forward, using all of her strength to pummel her shield into the back of Tullius then giving her axe a round. Tullius let out a cry of pain as blood spurted from the wound in his back, spreading and staining his armor with crimson red liquid. 

Ulfric took advantage of the setback and hooked his axe into Tullius's throat.

There was a moment of silence as the weight sunk in. A squelching sound haunted the room as Ulfric removed his axe, and Tullius's body fell limply to the ground. Ulfric's eyes passed from the two dead bodies, to Galmar, then to Thorunn. 

He smiled.

"A new High King sits upon Skyrim's throne," Galmar said, victory lacing his words. "And a new age begins for Skyrim's people."


	2. A KING'S GRATITUDE

Solitude had not seen a more jubilant day since High King Torygg's coronation. Jarls from all over Skyrim - the majority of them newly appointed in honor of the Stormcloak regime - stood from their seatings to join Torygg's replacement in celebration of his crown. Flags of their holdings hung from the bannisters atop the courtyard, where most of the rabble was at. Ulfric and his Jarls sat at the high table in their designated seats, each decorated with the heraldry of their hold. 

Save for one, to Ulfric's right. The arm rests were carved into the shape of a dragon, and a tapestry hung over the back stitched with a black dragon roaring on its hind legs, set upon a field of gold. The Dragonborn herself sat in this chair, dressed in an armored gown with a crown of flowers weaved into her platinum blonde locks. People that passed laid gifts at her feet near as much as they did with Ulfric. 

The Jarl of Markarth was to her right, slamming his mug of ale into the table with laughter at some crude joke Vignar Gray-Mane passed to him. Thorunn held a small amused smirk as she lounged in her seat, taking in the pandemonium that was High King Ulfric's coronation. 

The man himself leaned over to her, a smile of satisfaction on his lips that hadn't left since he sunk his blade into General Tullius's gut. "How long do you suspect it will take them to start brawling over meat pies?"

"If they keep at it like they are?" Thorunn responded, side-eyeing him. "By the time Skald takes that barmaid to his quarters." The barmaid in question was on the Jarl of the Pale's lap, the front of her gown unlaced, giggling shamelessly at all of Skald's vulgar jokes.

Ulfric laughed. "Then I suppose I better don my crown, before they're too drunk to remember why they're here." He stood and held a hand up. Jorleif, who'd been politely standing against the wall behind the high table, stepped forward and brought a goat horn to his lips. He blew, eliciting a long cry from the horn that slowly put an end to the crowd's ruckus. Ulfric spoke when the cry came to a halt. "People of Skyrim!" he began. "We are gathered here today to honor the end to the age of oppression that the Thalmor and their pet Imperials brought onto us. A new age is about to begin, one of prosperity and renewal, with the mighty Talos at our backs!" Murmurs of delight soared through the crowd, mingled with cries of agreement. "When I first began this revolution," Ulfric continued, "it was a single drop of courage in an ocean of fear. With the help of our Galmar Stone-Fist, Thorunn Stormblade, and all of you standing here today, that drop became a river, one that would drown the Imperial regime and flood the Thalmor back into their holes.

"But that river didn't come without a cost." Ulfric's voice turned from revolutionary to mournful. "We've lost men, good men, brothers and sisters and true Nords. Rest assured, their sacrifice will not be forgotten nor in vain. It was them that held the line and carved the way to Skyrim's restoration. And to honor their sacrifice, I've arranged for a vigil. Archers!"

The archers he'd called to arms were standing in wait all along the bannisters, dressed in black for mourning. At Ulfric's command, they nocked an arrow coated in flames and pointed them at the sky. When the arrows were loosed, the sky lit up, dotted with little blips of fire like torch bugs on a spring evening. The crowd remained silent until the arrows vanished behind the clouds. 

Ulfric lowered his hand, and the archers vanished along with their arrows, back behind the bannisters. The High King turned his attention back to his people. "The time has come to mark the beginning of an age of prosperity for Skyrim. Rorlund, if you will." The High Priest emerged from the doors to the Temple of the Divines, carrying a golden crown on a cushion of blue, flanked by two other priests.

The crowd made a path for him, separating to either sides of the courtyard. Ulfric moved to the other side of the table, kneeling to the priest when they reached one another. The High Priest held a hand over the king's head. "With the righteous blessing of the Nine Divines, I speak with Their voices as I name this man the High King of Skyrim." He lifted the crown from the cushion and passed the velvet to the priestess to his right, then took the crown in both of his hands and laid it with the utmost care atop Ulfric's head.

So a new High King was made. His people erupted into cheers and hollers so loud that the birds took to the sky, their cries indiscernible amongst the shouts of the people. Thorunn was much more modest in her happiness, pounding her mug into the table along with most of the Jarls - though they were a lot more vocal than she. The High Priest turned as Ulfric rose from his knees as a king, both of them grinning. Thorunn and the Jarls stood from their seats and unsheathed their axes to pound the hilts against their shields, all painted blue and silver with the heraldry of a Stormcloak. 

Ulfric, grinning with the weight of the world, raised a hand. "Return to your celebrations!" he hollered, lacing his voice with that of the Thu'um to strengthen it enough to be heard over the crowd. "And thank you all!" 

As soon as he took his seat again, the path that had been carved for the High Priest and his entourage vanished, enveloping the three. The bards took up their music again, playing an upbeat tune for the half-naked dancers stationed around the courtyard. 

"Stormblade," Ulfric said, leaning over and raising his voice to make sure he was heard. She turned her gaze unto him. "I do have a matter to bring to you. Perhaps now would be the best time to relay it."

"That so?" Thorunn prompted. She had known Ulfric too long and too intimately to start addressing him as 'Your Highness' and 'Your Majesty'. She would save those formalities for lesser folk.

Ulfric smiled at her, eyes gleaming with ambition. "My scouts say there is a dragon near enough to the city to be a threat," he announced. 

She tensed. Killing dragons had never been a pleasant thing for her. In a way, they were kin to her, so she'd limited their deaths to a strictly-necessary basis. Now that Alduin was slain, hostility in dragons decreased significantly, and she'd had no need to destroy one since putting an end to the World-Eater who'd harnessed their violence. If the dragon Ulfric spoke of was a threat, he was right to bring the matter to her, but that made her no less uneasy. "And?" she responded, narrowing her rich brown eyes slightly.

"I would slay this dragon at your side."

Thorunn had expected him to request she take care of the matter, but never had she expected him to want to assist. "Why, exactly, would you want to go with me? Is there something significant about this dragon?"

"There is something significant about every dragon," he answered with casual grace. "The most important being that they are becoming a natural part of Skyrim. As its High King, it would be negligent of me not to explore even its most dangerous attractions."

She skipped the 'with all due respect' and got straight to the point. "Dragons are not something to be taken lightly," she said. "They are as glorious as they are dangerous. You must respect them before you take up arms against them, and this means not reducing them to something as mundane as a 'dangerous attraction.'"

She expected some sort of irritation, but his expression retained its easiness. "Of course. My time with the Greybeards taught me a thing or two about respecting the creatures in which I draw my Thu'um from. I apologize for my poor choice of words. I did not expect you, slayer of dragons, to care for respecting them."

She chuckled at that, unable to help herself. "If I didn't respect them, they wouldn't be worth the effort of slaying them."

"Do you respect the Imperials?"

Thorunn side-eyed him. "Yes," she said, choosing her words carefully. She did not do that often. "They fought for what they believed was right, even though their hearts were in the wrong place. A lot of them were Nords, raised here in Skyrim."

"Admirable thoughts." Ulfric's gaze moved to his people, and for a long moment, he paused, drinking in the happiness and hope of those who supported him. He turned his attention back to the Dragonborn. "Regardless, this dragon does need to be handled. Will you join me, Dragonborn, or will you leave me to the wolves?" 

Assaulting a dragon alone was, bluntly, a suicide mission. She didn't think Ulfric would be dim enough to do that, but even so, he couldn't slay a dragon without the Dragonborn at his side. Many men made that mistake and ended up as the burnt lunch of the beast they were trying to end. Thorunn would not let that happen to the High King after all she'd done to get him there. 

"Alright, Ulfric," she conceded. "My blade is yours."

He grinned. "Excellent."

 

The dancing turned into feasting and the feasting turned into playful brawling. The brawling ended with the majority of the guests passed out where they stood, up to their bruises in alcohol and food. The High King and the Dragonborn defected from the coronation long before it came to that. Now they were in Ulfric's quarters, which were a vast improvement from his dwelling back in Winterfell.

His lips were on Thorunn's, moving in sync with hers as she worked at unlacing his tunic. This was not their first dance, nor would it be the last. With the stress that accompanied a revolution, their companionship had blossomed into something much more. 

Ulfric's tunic dropped from his shoulders, revealing a barrel chest rippling with muscle and Nordic tattoos. Thorunn's gown had been discarded the moment they walked into the room, leaving their bare chests pressed against one another as their hands roamed and their lips moved. 

They finished each other three times over that night, so high on relief and energy that it was near impossible to stop. By the time Thorunn collapsed at his side from where she'd straddled his waist, her body was jelly and her breaths were haggard, identical to Ulfric's own.

He snaked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "How does it feel, bedding a king?"

"You've always been a king," she said, focusing on her breathing as she traced the lines of the ceiling with her gaze. 

"And now I've got the woman that saved the world to prove it." He leaned over to place a kiss of finality on her lips, momentarily silencing the heaviness in their breaths. 

A tired smile briefed her mouth, replacing his lips. "Goodnight, Ulfric."

He hummed. "Goodnight."


	3. UPON A MAP

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I began writing this novel a little over a year ago, and I'm 50 chapters ahead of what's posted here so far. as you can imagine, my writing has improved significantly since then. I've edited the prologue several times since its debut and I rewrote the first chapter ("a king's gratitude) entirely, but this one here has only had minimal editing. I am editing these early chapters as best I can but I apologize if this (and the upcoming ones) are lackluster. I wrote about seven chapters before taking a veery long hiatus, so roughly the next five-ten chapters may seem poorer than later ones.
> 
> ANYWAY so there's all that babble, please leave comments and kudos if you enjoy x

They were up and about the moment the sun touched the horizon. Fittingly, Thorunn wore her steel plate set of armor. She'd chosen to wield Ysgramor's shield, an Ebony war axe, and as a backup weapon, the two-handed battleaxe Wuuthrad. Slaying a dragon would require nothing less than the best. She'd combed through her blonde hair and braided it in the traditional Nord caterpillar braids. 

She'd packed her satchel full with health and stamina potions. None of them were mages, so she'd seen no point in bringing along magicka stimulants. Among the potions was her journal, a compass, and a rolled up map. 

Galmar was in his Stormcloak officer armor, with his impressive greatsword strapped to his back. He looked as big and intimidating as ever, and the smile he gave Thorunn was not a friendly one, but one that thirsted for the blood of his enemies. Thorunn's return smile was of the same manner.

Ulfric was, surprisingly, wearing Nordic Carved armor instead of his usual outfit that consisted of the finest furs pulled over a simple set of light leather armor. One can never be too careful when being the man who killed the previous High King, fairly or not. Two axes hung from his belt. Where most Nordic kings specialized in sword-and-shield or wielded a two-handed sword, Ulfric duel-wielded, which was a rather rogue form of combat. Given his nature, Thorunn thought it was fitting.

At Thorunn's advisement, both Galmar and Ulfric harnessed a shield to block the dragon's Shouts.

The three of them met in the war room of the Blue Palace. It was a lot more roomy than the one back in Windhelm, but consisted of generally the same layout: rectangular table square in the middle of the room, a map spread out on it as well as bottles of ink and quills, armories and shelves of potions and books accentuating. 

The trio filed into the war room, taking their respective places at the table. Ulfric on the left, Galmar and Thorunn on the right. Ulfric rested his palm on the hilt of his axe as he leaned forward and pointed to a spot on the map: Right on the peak of a mountain near the Aegis river. It looked difficult to get to, but with horses and willpower, Thorunn didn't think there'd be too much trouble.

"Thorunn," said Ulfric. His tone was all business, but she could sense the affection underlying it. "You're the dragon expert here. What can we expect?"

"A dragon," she deadpanned.

Ulfric blinked. 

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "When it first takes flight, let me make the first move. Do not attack it until I give you the okay. Our foremost goal will be to get it on the ground, which will prove a challenge if it senses an unfair fight. I know a Shout to force it into landing, but we'll still need some kind of crutch."

"Crutch? Like an archer?" input Galmar.

Thorunn tilted her head thoughtfully. "Yes, like an archer." She furrowed her brows in concentration. No mere guard would be able to take on a dragon, not solo, anyway. All of Ulfric's high-ranking commanders had set off last night to take back the last remaining forts in Imperial control, taking with them most of his soldiers. 

She lifted her head up as it came to her. "I know someone. Let's hope she's still here in Solitude." 

"Right then," confirmed Ulfric. He removed his gloved hand from the hilt of his axe, tapping the circled spot on the map. "Let's get moving."

Thorunn nodded in agreement, and she and Galmar followed Ulfric out of the war room and into the throne room. "Jorleif!" barked Ulfric, waving over the ready steward. At Jorleif's approach and respectful bow, he ordered: "The city's yours until I get back. If I've not returned by dusk tomorrow, send a unit out to the circled spot on the map in the war room."

"As you command, Your Highness," complied Jorleif, and took his leave.

Ulfric continued, descending the staircase and nodding curtly to his guards as they opened the doors for him. Behind those doors was the city of Solitude, still heavily bruised by the Stormcloaks' assault. The fire had passed, but its ghosts remembered, etched into the stone walls with ash and soot. Builders and volunteers were working hard to rebuild what had been destroyed. Ulfric and his entourage passed through the sounds of construction.

"Where is this friend of yours?" inquired Ulfric, sending a look over his shoulder at Thorunn.

"The Winking Skeever." she answered. "Her name is Aela. She's within the Circle of the Companions."

"The Companions? I assume she'll be more than suitable for our needs, then."

"That she is."

The rest of the trip was spent in silence up until they reached the doorstep of Solitude's tavern. Ulfric and Galmar waited outside while Thorunn went to retrieve Aela, and much to her relief, the woman in Ancient Nordic armor was still there, drinking her sins away at a lone table. Bemused, Thorunn approached her.

"Up for killing a dragon?" she offered, smiling.

Aela's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You're dragon hunting again? I thought you denounced that trade after slaying Alduin."

"Yes, well, I got too used to killing dragons every day and now life looks incredibly bleak without it," said Thorunn. She paused as an expectant look rose to Aela's sharp features, then added soberly, "Ulfric's orders. We need an archer."

"Ah." Aela set her mug down and stood. She grabbed her bow from its resting spot on the wall of the tavern, then slung it over her shoulder. A smile tugged at her lips. "Why didn't you say so? Let's go slay us a dragon."

Aela had been her primary dragon-slaying partner back when Thorunn was still comfortable with doing that sort of thing. If Aela was unavailable, Farkas would take her stead, but rarely was Aela not available. 

And when Thorunn woke up under Paarthurnax's wing at the peak of the Throat of the World that morning after slaying the Harbinger of the End Times, the first thing she'd saw was tens of dragons flying up ahead; free, and not attacking, in their natural state without Alduin's influence. It wasn't so much that they weren't attacking as it was they didn't want to attack.

So Thorunn had ceased her dragon slaying. No reports of cities being assaulted were brought to her attention thereon, and beyond Odahviing and Paarthurnax, Thorunn had left the dragons alone as much as they left her alone. She couldn't help but deem it unnecessary to go seeking trouble with one of them. 

The things she did for Ulfric. Even though she was one of the select few who'd seen him in all his naked glory, she had very strict limits on how far she could question him. She was not exempt from his wraith nor his impatience, and he was not exempt from hers at times, either.

"Let's go slay us a dragon," agreed Thorunn, and the two of them left the tavern to rejoin Ulfric and Galmar.

Thorunn's stallion, Aegetha, was waiting for her just outside the gates, alongside Aela's mare Freydis. Galmar didn't happen to own a horse ("A man's legs should never be spread that far apart!"), so someone would have to do a favor for the team and double up. Thorunn pitied that someone. The big bear of a man had a tendency to hold on with all of his strength, and that was practically a safety hazard. 

To avoid being Galmar's host, Thorunn hoisted herself onto Aegetha's saddle, heeded his hind leg, and took off. Ulfric followed suit for the very same reason, leaving poor, oblivious Aela to carry Galmar.

Thorunn could hear his gruff laugh. "Looks like you're stuck with me, princess," he said. The horse whinnied and Aela sent him an annoyed look as he hoisted his hefty weight onto the saddle behind her. Aela whipped the reins. Moments passed before Freydis was neck-and-neck with Aegetha and Vjorn. 

They neared the mountain within a few hours. Even with the path carved for them, it would be a long climb.

"So," began Ulfric. "Assuming the dragon takes flight at our approach, Thorunn will make the first move. After her signal, we have free reign. And once it lands..."

"I take the rear," Galmar supplied. "Ulfric takes the midsection-- go for the wings --and Thorunn takes the big meaty front. I think it's unfair she gets the fun part with all the teeth and bone-crushing jaws."

Thorunn laughed, agreeing.

"While it's in the air, we just wait?" Ulfric continued, ignoring Galmar's chide. 

"Yes. It's going to either blow fire or frost. Either one will kill you. When that happens, group together and form a shield wall. Aela, you'll just have to crouch down in the middle," Thorunn explained.

"Wonderful," she deadpanned.

They dismounted their horses and tied them to a chip in the mountain's side. Getting their horses killed in the crossfire wasn't ideal with the trip back to Solitude they would need to make once this was put to an end. They'd be trekking the mountain on foot.

With an exchange of nervous looks, they began their ascend.


End file.
